


Under the Blankets

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: TSoT Fix-It [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, But he knows he can't get married, Continuation to Under the Lights, Domestic Johnlock, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Fix-It, Fluff, John doesn't know wtf happened, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, RimLock, Rimming, They're basically horny but cute in ch4, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: With John's stag night going into 'bathroom handjobs' territory with his best man, John is unsure about his promise to marry his fiancée.After being lovingly molested by several awesome readers in the comments under the stag night fic, I wrote a continuation toUnder the Lights. In order not to fuck up the initial story, I'm posting this one separately. Thanks for reading and the encouragement!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Bajo las mantas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105738) by [randomfandoms7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfandoms7/pseuds/randomfandoms7)



 

John’s stag night had been bizarre to say the least.  

That wasn’t because he and Sherlock had drank too much, way too fast, slept on the stairs at 221b, played ridiculous games, tried to solve a case while intoxicated, or gotten themselves arrested and yelled at by Greg for that. Even listening to Mrs. Hudson’s stories about her love life didn’t take the cake for that evening’s top event. 

No, the strangeness of the night had nothing to do with any of those things.  

It had everything to do with Sherlock. 

 

John groaned. He felt as if there was a bag of heavy rocks in his skull this morning. He left his untouched breakfast on Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen table when he heard Sherlock was up and moving about upstairs. Sherlock’s mind was clearly on the case that they failed to solve the night before as he tapped on his laptop, so John headed upstairs, took a seat on the sofa and tried to rearrange his priorities.   

From his trouser pocket, he fished out his phone, which had barely any battery left, and typed in a text to his fiancée.   

<TXT> I’m hungover. Staying at Baker St. Don’t wait.  

Thankfully, John managed to hit send before his mobile died. He reached for the cable for the charger that he used to keep plugged behind the couch and to his astonishment, a charger was there, just as it used to be when he used to live here.  

John wasn’t ready to address the elephant in the room, but he was definitely ready for a shower. He was about to get up when he remembered he had nothing to wear apart from the smoky-smelling clothes he had worn to several pubs and slept in when in jail for the night.  

“You’re welcome to take advantage of my wardrobe. I’m sure you can find pyjamas that will fit you.” Sherlock said without looking up from his laptop, because of course he knew what John was thinking about. 

“Thanks.”  

John was at the door when Sherlock added in a voice much colder than before.   
“I’m sure Mary will bring you a change of clothes when she comes to pick you up.” 

John opened his mouth to argue, to tell Sherlock that Mary wasn’t coming, that he had texted her. But most importantly, he chose not to say that he and Sherlock needed to talk about what happened the night before and what had it meant for them both, because even if it hadn’t meant much for the ‘married to his work’ detective, it had had a profound impact on John. He opted to nod and head to rummage in Sherlock’s neatly organised wardrobe in his bedroom.  

Indeed, a set of pyjamas with a string on the waist and a t-shirt that must have been way too tight even for Sherlock looked like a set John might wear under the circumstances. He took the folded clothes to the bathroom and spent what seemed like half an hour under the hot spray, desperately trying to wash off the smell of clubbing and the fact that he had cheated on his fiancée.  

He had to roll up the pyjama pants but the t-shirt fit him just fine. John froze when his eyes landed on the cup that stood on the sink. It had two toothbrushes in it. One was used and simple and the other looked unused and had the rubber tongue scratcher on the back that John liked.  

A painful squeeze in John’s chest caused him to take a seat on the lid of the toilet and take several deep breaths. When he calmed down, he stood up and looked at his tired face in the mirror over the sink. He brushed his teeth with the unused toothbrush, barely believing the implications of it even being there.  

John was painfully aware that he would have to face his new reality soon but when he heard Mary’s voice outside the bathroom, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the confrontation to come so much sooner than he had thought. 

“Mary?” John said her name loudly as he exited the bathroom. He wanted to avoid stepping into the sitting room and risking seeing the look on Sherlock’s face. This time, he did not want to see that pained expression Sherlock had during their engagement party months before. Only now was he able to see what it must have meant and hopefully he was reading his own feelings as well as his friend’s correctly.  

Mary approached him with a duffel bag slung over one arm, just like Sherlock predicted. She let out an amused snort seeing his attire but John couldn’t make himself smile. He had thought he loved her, he truly had, but looking at her now and thinking of spending the rest of his days with her, John felt the blood drain from his face. What if he had gone through with the wedding and regretted it later? 

Clearly, Mary noticed his turmoil and her smile faded. 

“John?” She phrased her question in one word. 

John took three steps backwards and into Sherlock’s bedroom so they wouldn't have to do the inevitable in the corridor.  

_    
 

Sherlock remembered a moment too late that John would notice the toothbrush. When he was faced with life without John under the same roof, Sherlock found himself placating his psyche with tiny, irrational, mostly visual stimuli that reminded him of the times John had lived with him. One day when he had been looking under the sink for a new toothbrush since John had always stacked them there to exchange every three months, he found a set of the type that John liked. Without a thought he opened one and put it next to his own in the cup. 

Some days it made him remember the good old days when John would bang on the bathroom door yelling that he needed to use the loo but other days it made him despondent, knowing he was just fooling himself and those times would never return. Neither John’s toothbrush nor anyone else’s would ever stand next to his own. He despised his irrational behaviour and foolish thoughts but he couldn’t help himself. 

A fine example of such was the day before, when John’s hands had touched his chest suggestively, when his friend had made Sherlock’s shirt buttons scatter on the dancefloor, when he had almost slid his hand into Sherlock’s pants in a room full of people, Sherlock couldn’t deny himself the chance of letting John go further. Even though he had known it would be an enormous mistake, he had played along, allowing himself to reciprocate the touch and do what he had craved to do for so long.   

When he had heard John coming upstairs for the first time since they had come back, Sherlock had tried to assume the look of indifference but the moment John had entered the room, Sherlock’s heart had sped up and it didn’t slow down throughout John’s shower either. Now, he tried to leash his thoughts about how John would look in his borrowed clothes... But then Mary arrived and he knew he had to lock the room in his mind palace that contained the events of last night and open it again only when he was alone in his bed. 

Mary delivered several lines of mindless chatter to which he nodded, both to acknowledge her presence and affirm that yes, they had a good time and yes, John was in the shower and would come out at any moment. Mary looked composed sitting on the sofa with a duffel bag on her lap, no doubt full of John’s clothes.  

The door to the bathroom opened with a quiet squeak and they both reacted. Mary, stood up immediately and upon hearing her name headed towards John. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, exhaled and whispered to himself. 

“Goodbye John.” 

 

Sherlock sat in the desk chair, feeling his shoulders slump, but he couldn’t make himself care. He tried not to listen to the hushed voices behind the wall and focus instead on the case but he just kept rereading the same sentence of the ghost date blog he had opened. Once the voices started getting louder to the point of yelling, Sherlock could not remain oblivious.  

“I can’t say I’m surprised, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” Mary’s voice was clear and full of accusation. “You’re leaving me for a man. Do you know what kind of woman that makes me?” Sherlock froze when the words reached his ears and all he could do was stay unmoving and wait for the final result of the argument. 

“Then tell everyone that it was you who left me. Got cold feet, changed your mind, whatever you wish. Just tell me what you want me to say and I’ll even write it on my blog.” John responded equally loudly but somewhat more composed.   

“You would do that?” Mary’s voice was filled with confusion. 

“Of course. I still care about you.”  

“But you love him...” The last word was said quietly but just loud enough for Sherlock to hear it. For several beats no one made a single sound and Sherlock had to force himself to stay put, not to run to John, grip him by the shoulders and force him to tell him if what Mary assumed could be true. If he did that, however, he would embarrass himself with a clear show of emotion, the same emotion that was bubbling up in him, making his chest ache. 

“I didn’t realise... I’m sorry. It was not my intention...” John was the one to finally break the silence. 

“To hurt me, I know, I know. I’m just curious what happened that made you decide or rather finally realise that you had loved him all this time?” Mary seemed genuinely curious and Sherlock sent a silent thank you for the direction she was steering the conversation towards. 

“I didn't say that! Mary...I...I...” 

“I knew. I’ve always known, ever since the first time you’ve told me about him. I could tell from the way you mourned for him because...John, what you went through...That’s not how you mourn a friend.”  

“Oh...” There was a moment of silence before John continued. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”  

“Tell you?!” She was yelling again. “Tell John ‘I’m not gay’ Watson that he is in love with his best friend who is a man?” She scoffed.

John fell silent again and the only thing Sherlock could hear was the loud beating of his own heart.  

“Well, I hope you’ll have a happy life together. Don’t bother inviting me to the wedding. I’m sure Sherlock can tell you how much that would hurt.”  

She left, stomping loudly, not bothering to say goodbye to Sherlock as she left, which was fine by him. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

John came into the sitting room, slumped onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands.   

“What a mess.” he mumbled into his palms. There was no response from Sherlock but, then again, John didn’t expect him to respond to Mary’s ridiculous accusations even though Sherlock must have heard them. John had to fix his life somehow, but he had no idea where to start. Mary was mad at him now, but since she had known about his attraction to Sherlock before, she would understand once he told her that... well, he had no idea what he could say in his defence since he couldn’t deny any of the things that she had accused him of.  

The click of the electric kettle made John look up. Sherlock had moved from his previous place by the laptop, and John heard soft shuffling in the kitchen. Tentatively, he went towards the sounds of tea being prepared and saw Sherlock pouring water into the teapot, his back to John. It was hard to assess Sherlock’s mood without seeing his face.   

“I need to argue with my fiancée more often if you making me tea is the result,” John strived for nonchalance and failed miserably, his voice breaking by the end of the sentence. 

A scoff was the only response Sherlock gave and without turning to face John, he left through the other kitchen door towards his room.  

John stood dumbfounded for a moment before he reached to retrieve two cups and saucers from the cupboard. He sat by the kitchen table and let the tea brew.  

His life had just been starting to take shape. He had been on the verge of having a life that just a few years ago had seemed like a distant dream, and after Sherlock’s presumed death – completely impossible. As if in a scene from the final minutes of a romantic movie, John could picture himself and Mary getting married. Then dinners with friends would follow, or rather with other couples because that was how this thing worked.  

Mrs. Hudson’s words echoed in his mind.  

 _“Marriage changes everything, John. It’s a different phase in your life. You meet new people cause you’re a couple. And then you just let your old f_ _riends_ _slip away.”_  

He would probably drift apart from Sherlock no matter how hard he tried to deny it out loud. Would he be content with working at the clinic and doing couple-ly things rather than running around with a madman in a long coat? 

John tried to look into himself and answer the question honestly. Would he be able to live away from Baker Street for the rest of his life knowing Sherlock was alive after all and living under the roof of the flat John used to call home? 

No. 

The answer was simple and hit him like a freight train. No, he wouldn’t be able to live without Sherlock. 

The thought struck John with its accuracy, because he had spent 2 years without his best friend, but those dark times could hardly be called ‘living’. It had been a mere existence until Mary had appeared and had tried to bring him back from the dead. He thought she had succeeded. Yet, only after Sherlock’s reappearance and after John’s initial anger at his best friend had died down, did he truly feel like himself again. 

John was still lost in his own head when Sherlock came back to the kitchen in a swish of dark blue dressing gown. He was freshly showered and the droplets of water that dripped from his wet hair left tiny dark patches on the silk fabric he was wrapped in. Graceful hands reached for the teapot and poured the hot brew into two cups John had previously prepared. It was only when Sherlock offered him a cup on a saucer that John finally looked up to see his friend’s face.   

Sherlock’s features were barely readable but his expression wasn’t harsh, rather the opposite. John let himself look at his friend for the first time since he had the chance to mull over the words Mary had thrown at him. Sherlock sat next to him and took a tiny sip of the liquid that had to still be scolding hot.  

John took in the way Sherlock’s lashes brushed his cheeks when he closed his eyes as his lips touched the rim of the cup, then opened them to reveal two pools of colour that John was unable to describe with one shade. Sherlock’s gaze turned to John’s and he heard himself swallow audibly as he felt that he too was being assessed, but with such intensity that he might as well be sitting naked.  

“I’m assuming you heard what she-” John started saying to break the silence but was interrupted. 

“Yup.” Sherlock popped the ‘p’ at the end and took another sip of the tea, his eyes never leaving John’s. Sherlock wasn’t going to make this easy, John realised. He placed his cup on the table as the tiny clattering sound it made against the saucer in his hands annoyed him to no end.  

John wiped his palms on his thighs which were clad with the same pyjama trousers that Sherlock had worn at one point. The t-shirt he wore used to cover Sherlock’s torso and probably stretched on it, clinging to the lean muscles. John didn’t mind that, he rather liked the idea of feeling Sherlock’s clothes cover his nakedness, smelling the unique scent of Sherlock’s room or maybe it was the scented hanger he had seen in Sherlock’s wardrobe... 

“I can almost hear the gears working in your head, John.” 

“We both know you can’t actually hear-” 

“You were thinking about wearing my clothes and how that makes you feel.”  

John was glad he wasn’t holding the tea in his hands anymore because he’d rather avoid the nuisance of cleaning the shattered cup off the floor. His first thought was to deny it, but he knew better. There was no point diving deeper into denial after what had happened in the club the night before so he might as well suck it up and face reality.  

“What did she mean when she said that you’d know how it would feel? With the wedding, you know...” John felt his face heating and his stomach turned with nerves. “Because what she said about me....I think I am... I could be....” 

“John,” Sherlock released a long sigh and John hoped for a confession, for confirmation or denial. He held his breath when Sherlock’s mouth opened to continue. “You really are an idiot.” 

John felt his eyes go wide but then a nervous laugh escaped his chest when Sherlock chuckled. 

“Right...” John nodded but refused to give up that easily. “Why haven’t you said anything? Before, I mean. You never said anything...” John sighed, lost for words, wishing he didn’t suck at emotional talk that much. He looked at Sherlock whose face went dark, his expression serious, almost scary, but his eyes were glinting in the scarce lighting of the kitchen’s overhead lamp. John swallowed hard seeing the array of intense emotion pass on Sherlock’s face.  

“What was I supposed to say?” Sherlock asked quietly, clearly trying to keep himself calm. Finally failing, he continued more loudly, letting his booming voice carry. “That during my self-inflicted exile I realised that I need you in my life and that I’ve probably loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you in that bloody lab and that I’d do anything to make you happy?”  

John’s words were stuck in his throat and he only managed to croak a quiet “Oh...” before Sherlock continued. 

“Even if making you happy meant I would help you plan your wedding with someone else...” Sherlock was panting now, the outburst of words and emotions choking him as much as it was choking John.  

John tried to place a placating hand on Sherlock’s arm but his friend moved to shrug it off and John let it fall back to his own lap. 

“I’m so-” 

“No, John. You can’t be sorry for something you were oblivious to.” 

“I can! And I am!” John yelled frustrated at himself and at his life choices. He didn’t try to reach for Sherlock again no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t bear to be pushed away again, not now. Sherlock was shaking his head, looking upwards at the cupboards as if to avoid John’s gaze. The gesture seemed so unnatural for the man that faced the criminal world with head held high and a stoic expression on his face. The face that John had seen in his dreams every night for two years, the face that should have stopped haunting him at night when Sherlock came back from the dead. Instead the dreams intensified. This time, his friend had been alive in his dreams again and when John used to wake up in the middle of the night next to Mary, something had felt wrong. Now he knew what. “I can’t do it, Sherlock.” 

“Do what?” Sherlock asked in a decent rendition of a bored tone but John wasn’t fooled.  

“Get married to Mary.” John announced looking intently at his friend’s reaction. 

“Of course you can. Don’t be ridiculous, John.” Sherlock faced him then, moving his body to the side. “That hand job wasn’t life changing, but If you expect me to say sorry for that, you’ll be disappointed.” Sherlock’s words made John remember the night before more vividly than he thought was possible while still so hungover and he felt heat creep to his cheeks. 

“Hand jo... no Sherlock that’s not why.” Although life-changing was exactly the wording he would use to refer to it. “I just...I never knew you felt that way.”  

“It’s hardly of any importance how I feel. It’s your wedding after all.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. His demeanour defied logic, defied everything John had just learned about him. Sherlock’s expression was no different than it had been any other day and it pained John to realise that was because Sherlock had mastered hiding his emotions so well. John was determined to make that mask slip again. He wanted to see more of the real Sherlock. Of the man who felt, who had needs both physical and emotional.   

“It is important! It’s important to me, Sherlock. All this time I thought you didn’t feel that way... that you weren’t .. that you weren’t...” 

“Gay? Go on, you can say it John.” Sherlock levelled a daring, icy glare on him. 

John couldn’t say it. Because what did that make him? The single encounter with his best friend had opened his eyes to what he really felt towards him. It took actual physical contact to make him see into his own heart. He waited for his breathing to come down a little before he could speak again. 

“Can I um...” John cleared his throat. “Can I stay? Here, I mean.” 

“Of course. The room had always been yours.” Sherlock’s features softened but his expression remained serious. “It always will be.” 

John nodded in a silent thank you promptly followed Sherlock who made his way towards the sitting room couch. They both sat there rather awkwardly in silence. 

“God...what now?” John asked with a sigh.  

“Watch crap telly. For an utterly incomprehensible reason, that usually cheers you up.” Sherlock tossed him a TV remote with disgust and John caught it expertly. 

“Umm...thanks but I meant my life. Mary.” 

“Oh, that. You won’t have to see her again.” 

“But we work at the clinic together.” 

“Hand in your resignation. I have a plethora of cases and the money from them would suffice for us. Besides, you know I need you... your input. If you want, however, you can always find another clinic; with your training there wouldn't be a problem.” Sherlock turned to him then, sliding his bent leg on the couch. “Just do what you want, John. Be the John Watson you want to be, not who everyone else is expecting you to be.” 

“Is that what you did?” It was John’s time to chuckle softly. “This way we’ll end up like two hermit recluses growing old together.” 

“Problem?” Sherlock challenged with a lifted brow and small smile. Whoa... John’s stomach did a flip again and he leaned back on the sofa falling silent for a moment, mulling the idea over. 

“No, a-actually...no.” 

John reached for the tea he had brought with him, feeling somewhat ready to drink it now. He sipped it slowly, focusing on the brew rather than the large presence next to him, sitting silently. Sherlock didn’t ask questions, didn’t push him, rather let him decide on his own. Thinking back to the preparation for the wedding, and everything that had happened after Sherlock’s return from the dead, that’s exactly what he had been doing. Sherlock toned down his bossy self to ordering him around on cases but John’s life choices were his own, not influenced by Sherlock. Then there was the thing Mary had said.... and Sherlock hadn’t denied. God, what must have Sherlock felt when he had helped to organise the wedding. He clearly wanted to make John happy while he himself had been pushed aside. John realised now that was exactly what he had done, he had pushed his best friend aside even before he got married. Mrs. Hudson’s words rang in his head again. He had denied the truth in them at the time, but could acknowledge them now in his head.  

John made use of the remote in his hand, feeling that indeed some mindless recreation could do him good. When the TV in the far corner of the room glowed with  _Life of Brian_ , John realised he needed to move his old chair out of the way so they could see the screen in its entirety. On his way back to the sofa, he grabbed the blanket draped over the chair. Sitting back on the sofa, he covered his legs with it after planting his feet on the coffee table. He glanced at Sherlock, lounging to his right and silently offered to share the warmth by lifting a corner of the blanket. After a brief moment of hesitation, Sherlock scooted closer, mirrored the position of John’s legs on the table and pulled the blanket over his legs. 

John released a contented sigh as he let his body relax into the cushions, undeniably feeling that he had made several right decisions over the last 24 hours. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is so short. I didn't have the time to edit the rest. I promise the smuttiest of smut in ch4 ;)

They spent the whole day in 221B, recovering from their hungovers, never again broaching the subject of John’s breakup with Mary or any plans John might have for his future. John wanted to live in the bubble with Sherlock for a while before he would have to face the issues of the outside world again. 

Sometime between watching X-Factor and Top Gear they had more tea but resumed their respective places under the blanket. John felt the heat of Sherlock’s body next to his, but wanted more. He pulled the fuzzy tartan to his chin, forcing Sherlock to put his arms under the blanket as well. Until now, the detective had kept his hands loose on top of the blanket but once they were under, John felt an irrepressible urge for even the smallest of tactile sensations. 

John sneaked his right hand to find Sherlock’s cold one and hooked his little finger over Sherlock’s, waiting for his friend’s reaction. When none came, they stayed like that for some time before Sherlock intertwined their fingers, still looking at the telly. The excitement that kindled in John at the simple gesture defied logic. John knew Sherlock was in his head, not watching at all. He marvelled at the profile of the most beautiful man he had ever seen and mentally kicked himself for having been so blind before. How could he have not realised the depth of his feelings towards his best friend? 

The feeling of Sherlock’s hand in his felt both sweet and intimate. He smiled and let himself drift off to sleep holding his detective’s hand under the blanket.  

 

John woke up with his head lolled onto Sherlock’s arm. Judging by the progress of the show, he had missed a part of it and some adverts, but he didn’t care in the slightest. What he really cared about was the fact that Sherlock hadn’t moved away and was still holding his hand. John smiled to himself thinking that maybe the tragedy of Sherlock’s fake death and their time apart could lead to something good in their future. Maybe the events that had led to this day could result in them opening up to one another, something that maybe they would have never done if their life at 221B had never been disturbed by Moriarty. 

John imagined himself and Sherlock living for 15 years under the same roof without admitting their feelings towards the other. That scenario had seemed entirely possible once. Now, they had a chance to pursue a path that might not have been revealed without the tragedy in their lives.   

“Every cloud has a silver lining” John didn’t realise he had uttered the words out loud until he heard Sherlock’s low voice next to him. 

“In what sense?” 

“Uh... I was just thinking about our time apart and how....you know...” John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s arm. 

“How it made you decide to marry a person you didn’t love just because it was convenient?” Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely confused. 

John sighed in exasperation. “No, how that lead to the other night and us now, here.” He squeezed the hand that he had been holding for the last hour under the blanket. 

“Mmm that.” Sherlock purred, visibly relaxing. 

“Yes.” John wanted to enjoy a moment he had never thought he would crave so much in his life. He felt as if excitement mixed with warm contentment swirled in his body, making him smile until his face started to hurt. But he couldn’t stop, not when Sherlock’s fingers were intertwined with his own; not when the simple touch gave him a sense of stability that thinking of marriage to Mary never had. 

It should feel weird, strange. He wasn’t used to snuggling with his best friend on the couch. It wasn’t something they had ever done when they had lived together before. Now it felt right, like all the paths they had chosen in life had led to this moment. 

Initially Sherlock’s hand had been cold but now, after settling in John’s warm one, it was the same temperature as John’s. He couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of Sherlock's body was usually that cold as well and how long would it take to warm it up. The thought kindled warmth in his lower abdomen. They were not drunk anymore; whatever he said or did now would be taken seriously and there would be no going back.  

John slid their joined hands towards Sherlock until he felt his thigh. He positioned their hands so that his was on the bottom and he could feel the thin fabric of the dressing gown covering Sherlock’s thigh with the back of his hand. 

Sherlock still looked straight at the telly but his Adam's apple bobbed. A moment passed before Sherlock untangled their hands and took John’s palm to position it on his mid-thigh. 

It seemed silly to be so nervous to touch Sherlock’s thigh when just the night before he had held Sherlock’s dick in his hand but there he was; his heart pounding from the slight contact with the softness of his friend’s dressing gown. John spread his fingers, feeling Sherlock’s muscles flexing as if trying to reach back. John realised he had made a groaning sound at the back of his throat when the corner of Sherlock’s mouth lifted in a smirk. He was enjoying this, the sexy bastard.  _Oh, Sherlock Holmes, the game was on._  

Sherlock’s breathing picked up its pace when John slid his hand just slightly up. The movements of his fingers were languid as he inched his hand towards the detective’s groin, letting Sherlock collect his thoughts and keep his instincts in check if he wished to. He didn’t want to scare Sherlock away. The night before, they had been intoxicated and John had no idea if he should expect similar enthusiasm from his friend when sober. Sherlock had never showed any physical affection towards him before. 

John was still looking at Sherlock’s profile when he gasped in surprise as his hand bumped into Sherlock’s own under the blanket. 

“It was taking you ages, John.” Sherlock looked at him then with a lascivious smile adorning his lips. “So I started without you.” 

Heat flooded John’s cheeks and a pool of lust gathered in his abdomen when he realised what exactly Sherlock’s hand had been doing. Abruptly, Sherlock peeled the blanket off himself and stood up, leaving John gaping as the blue silk parted to reveal naked flesh underneath.  

John was done. 

He was done fucking around. 

John Hamish Watson was ready to pursue what he wanted and, in this instant, that was the barely-dressed sexy detective sauntering in front of him. He stood up and in three steps reached Sherlock, turned him around and kissed him. It was a quick peck but both of them were panting when John lowered himself from his tiptoes and stood searching Sherlock’s face for a response. The single second seemed to stretch to infinity before the detective’s hands reached out for John’s face. That was enough. It was all John needed to slide his hands to Sherlock’s nape and link their lips together, this time for a desperate, needy kiss. Their bodies clashed and both of them opened to the kiss, wanting it, craving it. Initially, their teeth collided before they found a rhythm and John moulded his body to his friend’s, taking as much of the kiss as he was being given. He tasted the remnants of coffee on Sherlock’s tongue as it swirled in his mouth, exploring. John let his fingers slide into Sherlock’s hair, not trusting himself if he let them roam lower. Sherlock was devoid of such inhibitions and John felt his buttocks being squeezed and his hips pulled even closer towards the man who was kissing the life out of him. John broke their lips apart to catch a breath. He looked up at the sly expression on his detective’s face and mirroring it, pushed Sherlock on the grey armchair right behind him. 

In his designated space, Sherlock let his dressing gown fall open, revealing absolutely everything without a hint of bashfulness in his expression. John stood for a moment, taking in the magnificent body in front of him; the long legs that were open in invitation, strong thighs and... oh God...Sherlock’s cock was long and hard, much like the man himself and John licked his lips as they had dried when he panted, ogling his friend’s physique.  

Sherlock’s hands were on the arms of the chair, casually draped, not gripping. His eyes were hooded with clear anticipation and lust but he wasn’t nervous. Or if he was, he hid it a lot better than John did. John was sure he wanted this, but had just a vague idea what “this” was. John’s libido told him to act, but the inhibitions that had been metaphorically beaten into him his whole life made him hesitate. One word from Sherlock cleared his mind from any reticence; one word delivered in a low growl changed everything. 

“Strip.”  


	4. Chapter 4

“Strip.” 

John felt a sizzle travel to his groin at the sound of the command; his body automatically reacting, listening to Sherlock, just as it always had. His hesitation from moments before had dissipated and it was as if he was transported back to the time when Sherlock used to say “We’re going” and he would follow, just like he was doing now. He should be mad at this concept, defy it, but the warmth that spread in his body at the sight of Sherlock naked and commanding him in a sultry, authoritative voice made him willingly compliant.  

He untied the string from the loose pyjama bottoms and slid them slowly down his legs, his eyes focused on Sherlock’s face. John folded the bottoms neatly before he placed them on the desk chair nearby. He hesitated when he stood in just the t-shirt in front of Sherlock, suddenly very aware that he was about to be completely naked in front of his friend. 

“Have you changed you mind?” The detective asked in a husky voice. 

John looked at Sherlock’s face, at his casual pose and the semi-erect cock lying on his thigh. He shook his head in response and catching Sherlock’s lustful gaze, started lifting the t-shirt slowly, just three inches at first then he paused and lifted it another three more. His physique wasn’t what it used to be back in the army, but he had tried to lose weight to look good for the wedding. He took three quick breaths to clear his head of the image of Mary and the wedding and took the borrowed white t-shirt off completely in one swift motion. He threw it in the general direction of the pyjama bottoms, not caring anymore. He saw the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitch, giving him more courage. He had never been naked in front of a man who he was aware desired him sexually before. Sure, he had been naked in the shower with men in the army but this was different. Oh so very different.    

He was hard and he could feel the air in the room trying to cool his cock to no avail. Sherlock noticed it as well because he wasn’t looking at his face any more. He was smiling but his eyes were focused, calculating, his fingers steepled under his chin. John straightened his back, held his chin high and arms to the side. He took three slow deep breaths gathering thoughts and drinking in Sherlock’s reaction to his body. Sherlock’s usually pale skin was flushed and his breathing came fast, matching John’s. 

John felt like a prized possession and oddly enough that made his whole-body flush even more. He wanted to be owned today. In fact, he would have to make sure to give Sherlock as much as he was able. 

“John...” 

“I know I might not-” John started, his head still held high but he was interrupted. 

“You’re perfect... Come to me, John.” Sherlock said and then smiled a lascivious smile, one that would have John stripping if he wasn’t already naked. “I won’t bite.” he extended his hand to John. “Unless you ask me to.” 

John heard the noise coming out of his mouth. It was half-surprise, half-plea as he released a breath. Sherlock’s cock twitched, now fully erect and heavy. John had been told by his previous partners that he was big but he could plainly see that his friend was not lacking in that department either. He felt a jolt of fear as he grasped what Sherlock could want from him and wasn’t sure if he was ready for that just yet. He had discovered just less than 24 hours ago that he was gay, or bi or whatever he was... 

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” Sherlock’s expression became serious when he started saying the words as if reading John’s mind. He continued quickly seeing John was opening his mouth to protest. “Or anything you’re not ready to do yet...” 

“Right...Okay.” John gave a curt nod. “Sod this.” Was the last thing John said before he launched himself at Sherlock, straddling his naked body with his own and linking their lips together.  

Sherlock’s hands were on his back, caressing, coaxing him even closer as their mouths clashed, trying to find a rhythm in their desperate movements.   

John’s hands held Sherlock’s face, his thumbs caressing the day-old scruff before he let himself slide them lower, over Sherlock’s muscle-covered abdomen and to his back, bringing their chests closer. He had never seen Sherlock in such a shape and he couldn’t wait to explore more, see more, kiss more. Everything, every inch of his best friend. Their kiss slowed down, becoming less frantic and more languid, making the gentle exploration sensual. 

John moved his hips and groaned at the slide of his cock between their bodies. He was aware Sherlock's cock was right below his sac and he moved his hips back sliding his arse over the detective’s length. Sherlock growled into the kiss and bucked his hips, making the friction even more erotic. Feeling Sherlock’s cock between his arse cheeks made John change his mind. Suddenly, he wanted Sherlock inside him and he was certain it would be worth it, even if just to try and find out how it feels.  

“Fuck me...” John moaned, breaking the kiss “...fuck me Sherlock...please.” 

A wide-eyed stare met John’s, indicating that he had managed to surprise the only consulting detective in the world. A grin broke on John’s face as he basked in the fact that he had rendered the great Sherlock Holmes speechless.  

John knew the moment had come where there was no turning back from any of the decisions he had made in the last hours when the expression on Sherlock’s face changed from surprised to predatory. The transformation was astounding. John watched with fascination as his best friend - the one who had claimed to avoid feelings and to whom his body was just a transport – became a creature of lust in a matter of seconds. 

In a series of quick movements, John followed Sherlock’s push and let himself be positioned on the opposite chair, the one that had been his for so long when he used to live in 221B. He gripped the backrest of the armchair while kneeling on the cushion. In that position, his arse was up and he quickly apprehended that was exactly what Sherlock wanted. John felt his cheeks being spread with a rough squeeze from his friend’s grip. 

“Tell me when to stop, John.” Sherlock’s voice was strained, lower than usual, the syllables coming out in a purr. John nodded. 

“Ouch! Sherlock!” He yelped and turned his head to look at his friend who just delivered a hard slap on his right buttock. 

“You have to let me know when to stop, John. I don’t want to do anything you don’t agree to.” 

John nodded again. 

“I need you to say it.” 

“I will yell ‘halt’ when it’s too much, okay?” John yelled. He was panting now; trying to force his mind to think while so heavily aroused was not easy. 

Sherlock seemed to think that over before he nodded. 

“That will work. Now hold on.” 

“Sherlock? One more thing.” 

“Yes?” 

“Slap me again.” 

The grin that spread on Sherlock’s face was wickedly sinful, John felt his cock twitch in anticipation of what was to come.  

He didn’t have to wait long for the other slap, this time on his left cheek. He yelped but then felt the sting turn into pleasure. It felt like a massage but much better. He felt heat in the place where Sherlock’s hand had landed and his friend caressed the spot before kissing it.  

John’s head reeled with new sensations and technically they hadn’t even done anything yet. He felt his cheeks being spread again and this time he felt a breath of air before there was a wet slide of Sherlock’s tongue right on his hole.  

John moaned and bit into the other blanket draped on the back of the armchair at the unfamiliar but extremely erotic feeling. 

The very idea that the smart mouth of Sherlock Holmes was literally kissing his arse made him want to moan and giggle at the same time. He was aroused but also giddy. He felt light, like there was nothing that could stop him from pursuing happiness now.  

Sherlock lapped at his hole and John unashamedly pushed his arse back for more. It felt unexpectedly good to the point that he found himself moaning loudly. His sounds were echoed by Sherlock’s similar ones as the detective’s scruff made the delicate space in between John’s arse cheeks sore. He clearly wanted Sherlock to continue and he thought he had indicated as much, so when Sherlock stopped his ministrations John was confused. 

Sherlock stood behind him and John felt the large palm slide to his abdomen and lower until it wrapped around his cock. John hadn’t touched himself until now for a reason; he didn’t want to come too soon and he was right to hold himself back before. Involuntarily, he bucked into Sherlock’s palm, groaning at the feel of the strong grip.  

“John...” Sherlock’s voice in his ear was strained, and the growl that formed his name sent a shiver down John’s spine. “You’re so responsive...” Sherlock licked his neck before he bit him on the trapezius, making John buck once more. He felt his arousal in the trembling of his muscles. John needed a release and he wasn’t above begging for it if need be. 

“Fuck... Sherlock...I can just...” he thrust harder into Sherlock’s hand to convey his meaning. 

“No. No, you can’t, John.” Sherlock took John’s right hand and placed it on his own cock. John wrapped his fingers around his friend’s girth and gave it a tug. “Can you see what you do to me, John? What you have been doing to me for so long...” 

“You said you realised only after your … disappearance...” John refused to say death’ or ‘fake death’, it still hurt too much. 

“But I wanted your body long before that.” John slid his hand on Sherlock’s cock faster, turning halfway on the chair to face his friend as he continued talking. “I imagined your hand on my cock when I stroked myself, especially after I could so clearly hear your grunts when you showered. You do realise there’s a glass door that connects my bedroom to the bathroom, right?” 

John felt himself blushing as he imagined Sherlock masturbating and thinking of him. 

“Oh God, Sherlock.” he groaned thinking how he should have joined his friend then. But he knew well that he had been too afraid to discover his own sexuality. Sherlock took John’s hand off his cock and placed it on John’s own.  

“Play for a moment, I’ll be back. Do not come, John.” He looked him straight in the eyes as he said it, his stare conveying the seriousness of his demand. John nodded, placing his cheek on the backrest of the armchair and starting a slow rhythm on his cock. It was good thinking of Sherlock while touching himself and not feeling guilty about it. This time was so much different from all the other instances that had come before, because now Sherlock was aware of it and he encouraged it.  

John moaned, closing his eyes as he tightened his grip. Lost in his pleasure, he became aware of Sherlock’s presence only when cool liquid spilled between his arse cheeks. John felt his friend’s fingers spreading the lube, circling his hole, and  teasing him until John pushed back to clearly indicate what he wanted. He gasped when he felt the tip of Sherlock’s finger breach the ring of muscle and he let go of his cock to hold onto the armchair with both hands.  

A wet kiss landed on one of his cheeks then on his lower back and up his spine when Sherlock worked his finger inside John. The feeling was strangely intrusive, foreign but unexpectedly pleasurable. The newness of it made the excitement in John soar. He pushed harder, impaling himself on the finger and bit the blanket draped over the armchair to stop himself from uttering the series of expletives that threatened to escape his lips.  

“We’re alone, John. Scream if you wish. Scream what you want me to do to you, scream profanities or scream my name.” Sherlock’s voice was seducing him to want even more, to forget the world outside and just live in the movement. 

“Sherlock!” John shouted as another finger wiggled its way inside him. “Oh fuck!” 

“That’s right. Do you want more?” Sherlock punctuated the question with a twist of his fingers inside John, grazing his prostate. 

“Yes. Sherlock, yes!” 

Sherlock kissed John’s shoulder before whispering directly over his ear. 

“When you masturbate thinking of me John, what happens in your fantasy? What do you want, John?” John knew Sherlock was being cautious but he had thrown that out of the window the moment he had shed his last piece of clothing and had seen Sherlock’s cock twitch. 

“You... I want you.” John said the only truth that existed in his mind at the moment. 

“How do you want me, John?” Sherlock licked John’s earlobe while his fingers kept sliding in and out of his body. “On my knees? Sucking you off?” John groaned at the words travelling straight to his cock and he felt his precome leak. It was the first time when John was certain he could come untouched; if Sherlock just kept talking to him in that sultry voice and teasing his hole, he could come without touching his cock at all. And Sherlock kept talking, low rumbling sound caressing John’s ear and sending shivers down his spine. “Or do you want me on my back so you can come with your cock inside me and your tongue in my mouth?” 

“Fuck Sherlock... I’m gonna come now...” 

“No, John, You won’t. Now tell me.” 

“I want you inside me,” He pushed on Sherlock’s fingers, now freely twisting in his hole. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, fuck me Sherlock or I’m gonna come any second now!” Sherlock’s fingers left his body and no more than half a minute later, John felt the tip of Sherlock’s cock nudging his entrance. Wet and slippery, it teased John, making him squirm, making him want more. “Sherlock please, I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Sit on me, John.” Sherlock said already helping him get off the chair. His detective sat on his chair in the same position as he had been sitting before; his dressing gown falling apart to reveal his gorgeous body and his impressive erection waiting for John. He straddled his friend and linked their lips together. Fire overtook his body at the feel of Sherlock’s lips on his and he reached between them to position his friend’s sleek cock at his entrance. 

“Fuck...” he dragged the word, moaning into the kiss as the tip of Sherlock’s erection threatened to break his promise of not coming too soon. He lowered himself and breaking away from Sherlock’s lips, linked their foreheads so he could look at his friend’s expression when his cock breached the ring of muscle.  

Sherlock cursed and the vulgarity was so foreign from those lips, John felt emboldened to sink lower. He felt a little burn and lifted his hips up before sliding back down, Sherlock’s cock gliding deeper and deeper into him until his thighs met Sherlock’s lap. They were both panting then but stopped their movements altogether. 

John let himself become accustomed to the new feeling of fullness, the feeling of Sherlock inside him. Exciting, exquisite feeling because it was Sherlock, the man he trusted despite the ups and downs in their friendship. The man he had missed for so long, the man he wanted, needed... craved.  

Sherlock’s hands moved from John’s hips to his chest and John took them in his own. He lifted their hands, interlocking their fingers and breathed one word; 

“Together.” The word was both a plea and a promise, made while looking into Sherlock’s arousal-flushed face. 

With the first glide of John’s hips, they both groaned loudly. Sherlock’s grip on John’s hands tightened as he threw his head back and released a series of incoherent curse words. 

_  

Sherlock couldn’t let John know how deeply affected he was that John was giving his body so freely to him. The body that he had dreamt of for years now, the body that had been hidden under smart shirts and jumpers instead of being exposed to his eyes. John had always been at least partially dressed when they had lived together and Sherlock longed to see the object of his desires in all his glory. When John had finally stood naked in front of him, Sherlock had to force himself not to savagely attack him right there, or worse, lay John down on the floor and worship his body the way it deserved to be worshiped; with kisses and licks and nips... Hopefully, there would still be time for that. Now, however, he wanted John to feel pleasure like he had never felt before, so he would feel the depth of need and emotion that coursed through Sherlock’s veins when it came to his blogger.   

He felt his cock twitch inside John and as much as he wanted this moment to last, he waited too long to prolong it any more than was necessary. If he was lucky, he could get a chance to lave at John’s neck, bite his nipples, caress the perfection that was John Watson. Sherlock looked into his friend’s piercing eyes as their foreheads were linked together, their breath mingling and their hands joined in a wordless bond that created a moment far more crucial for their relationship than the mere idea of sex ever held to him. Sherlock felt his orgasm building with each slide of John’s hips. His movements became faster and they both tightened the grip of their hands, desperate to stay connected and let the climax flow through them. 

“Together.” Sherlock groaned and took John’s lips in a desperate kiss as he felt his orgasm flow through him and into John at the same time hot spurts of John’s come splashed on his chest.  

Their kiss turned into a series of groans delivered to each other's lips until they were both done and only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the room. John looked at Sherlock then, searching his face as if he wanted to say something but no words left his mouth, he just shook his head and smiled. Sherlock smiled back and soon enough they were both giggling like the two happy idiots they were. Like they had years ago after they chased the cabbie, or that memorable time in Buckingham Palace... 

Once his chest stopped vibrating with the laughing fit, Sherlock reached for John to help him detach and move to sit sideways on his lap. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around his friend, waiting for him to draw the line at post-coital cuddling. Instead of pulling away however, John took Sherlock’s face in his palms and kissed just the tip of the detective’s nose. He proceeded to slide his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, his fingertips grazing the scalp. Sherlock could barely restrain himself from purring as he lowered his head to kiss the scar on John’s shoulder before he rested his cheek there. He draped the flaps of his dressing gown over them both as far as it went and faintly realised that he had the perfect view of the telly. The vantage point was much closer than the sofa and the idea of John’s arse on his lap, his hands in his hair when they watched some movie together made him sigh with content into John’s skin.  

“You said the room will always be mine...” John’s voice broke Sherlock away from his musings. Sherlock nodded but furrowed his brows slightly, waiting for John to continue. “What if I don’t want it?” 

Sherlock’s heart sank deeper than Titanic into the ocean as the perfect bubble he created for himself burst in a matter of seconds. 

“That’s fine, John. I wasn’t expecting you to-” Sherlock started, lifting his head to meet John’s eyes, surely filled with regret. He felt his shoulders slumping and his eyes dimming when John put a finger on his lips to quiet him. 

“What if I want to share your room?” John’s eyes were filled with hope and affection; a set of feelings completely opposite to what Sherlock had expected. Joy filled his chest and chased the dark cloud of doubt away from his mind. He opened his mouth and snuck his tongue out and over John’s finger before wrapping his lips around it. A moan tore out of John’s mouth when he sucked the finger into his mouth.“Oh God, Sherlock...how could I have been so blind for so long?”  

Sherlock had a feeling that John’s rhetorical question was one he should respond to anyway but the lump in his throat prevented him from uttering a word. John’s eyes were piercing in their honesty, showcasing the emotion that bubbled inside Sherlock’s chest as well. John’s hand moved to Sherlock’s cheek and he leaned into the touch, letting his lover’s warmth permeate his body. He finally parted his lips to express himself verbally but only a contented sigh left him as there were no words in all the dictionaries, and no phrases in the scrolls of The Great Library of Alexandria to put into words the swirling sensations that  overflowed  his heart. Sherlock felt cocooned in  the  blanket of warmth that was John Watson. Still holding his lover’s gaze, Sherlock smiled and pulled him closer ,  fully intending for moments like the one they had just shared to become a daily occurrence in their future. A grin spread on John’s face when he finished his sentiment.

“But now I see. I see...us.” 


End file.
